Chess Game
by HowbrightTheSky
Summary: This wasn't living, it was surviving,and Kirk wasn't sure there was anything left to live for anymore .His Spock,he hated, but this Spock,he was the real reason Kirk was so desperate for this part of the plan to exist... a Mirrorverse fic, reverse kirk's a bit of a softie... as psychopaths go,unfortunately Spocks just too cute for his own good. a k/s story,possible rape!,violence!


Rain, dripping onto the back of my neck, soaking through my tattered gloves and into my hair until it is completely saturated.

a soft breeze, cool clean warm puffs of air blow into my face as I sit motionless on a wooden swing ropes reaching out forever to tangle with one of the strongest highest branches available, its relatively dry beneath the deep red foliage giving way to muddy brown or deep amber in places, tiny clusters of closely meshed leafs, a tasteful collage giving way to stormy grey blankets of cloud teased carelessly across a starless dessert sky.

it was like looking into a murky pond, dead matter and pieces of wood pushing its way into my eyelids, rivulets of hot suffocating pond water forcing its way into my feeble lungs as my unruly mop of hair is gripped painfully and thrust there .my hands long accustomed to glaring angry heat have long since numbed until I can no longer feel the deep crystallization of liquid, cold seeping into my flesh, into my very bones as each layer of frozen tissue throbs, the pain is excruciating,

I sit, a grey shaded figure stooped over in submission as the cold hard sheets of rain slice sideways into my fleshy form, as my digits if possible tighten further around the rough twine cutting into them as a whirlwind tears at my clothing and the sky is polluted with the black mood of the gods, but I do not move, my dark heavy robes swamping me, it matters not. I will grow .water cascades down my pale round face and pours down my chin, dripping feebly from my nose and mixing with the fat salty tears escaping from my eyes.

Soon they will find me, my Vulcan classmates, the majority simply ignore me, some see me as no different from them, but there are always some who cannot keep their own emotions in place. Let jealousy mix with hatred, I, the son of a chief, human... Vulcan, mongrel. They see me as illogical. Outcast, a vile twisted mutation to detest and annihilate, but their logic is flawed -however their physical blows have left me light headed and with many unexplainable wounds.

My father does not comprehend such hatred, and he has yet to learn of the extent my injuries, such violence is unheard of at the Vulcan school of pan, all I can do is catalogue my injuries and hope such nonsense will soon he will not allow me to learn from home for fear of removing me from society and therefore becoming more isolated, mother says it will get worse before it gets better.

I am intelligent, my blood is far from pure and my biology completely unique, the first Vulcan human hybrid to survive infancy. My IQ is 10.3456% higher than average and approximately 45.9789% higher than anticipated by my professors. I excel in both martial arts and hand to hand combat, is speak 17 different languages in approximately 46 different dialects however I have been known to display emotion if provoked and that is shameful. In my defense if my antagonists had not singled me out in such a way I do not believe there would be such shame laid upon my shoulders. I do not allow myself to "wish" as they say for some ridiculous alteration of life that one would call fantasy in witch I am not human at all but completely Vulcan, the thought tears me to pieces, my mother if a little overly emotional has given me a glimpse into the life a human would lead, a freer, less efficient life , but a short price to pay for such love and acceptance that even where I excepted as fully Vulcan by society I would never experience am a child of two worlds... I have yet to find a place where I am truly welcome.

I stand solemnly, kithara fialdoron and khor will be here soon, that is if they dare to brave the harsh climate so rarely seen upon this hard stony dessert planet, where I am stranded so. For my ten short years I am small, tiny even by Vulcan standards however the ratio of size to intellect only further intimidates those few who take it personally upon themselves to make my life unbearable.

I chastise myself for wishing sailor and thoin where here and could see to the bottom of my misery. I do believe I have punished myself sufficiently. any longer and severe hypothermia will ensue, my fingers if not so frozen would be quivering and I look upon my soaking wet form with disgust, I try in vain to flatten my unruly hair and only succeed in wiping rainwater into my eyes, I begin to walk head down deep in thought as I begin my journey home, salor usually walks me home on Mondays Tuesdays and Wednesdays, thoin most other days when he is not needed by his sick mother at home, Vulcan flu -a very nasty affair, she is expected to recover fully over the course of 3 weeks four hours and seventeen seconds... .4,She is curious about me and wishes to meet the only non Vulcan student to have earned the right to extra tutoring arriving two hours earlier than other students and spending less than six hours completing his work as oppose to the average eight,

And still somehow managing to remain the top in his class... of 600, I do not take pride in such accomplishments, nothing is enough, and nothing will ever be enough.

I never made it home that day, or the next, or the next, I was teleported into the Vulcan intensive care unit for the young and disabled. my injuries where: lack of oxygen, concussion, several fractures, a broken leg-arm, and several cuts to my face, hypothermia, glandular fever as a result of my weakness and severe head trauma, my father didn't decide to take me from school, the decision was made for him- at least in part. I was assigned a guard, an old professor by name of Guayas. It was not a happy memory, but I suppose it ended well, he was the first Vulcan ever to see my human heritage as an advantage, not a curse, he was fascinated by humans, and sympathised with my inner turmoil, waking is filled with images of my quirky old professor bending over some tube or other filled with homemade explosives and healing ointments, I could never tell witch, he made it a game to test me about it, every week it would be" now then spock, my young friend, what may I ask ,is in this phial?" his eyes would twinkle and crinkle endearingly at the edges, A very happy memory...

I wake in my designated quarters 0800, to the last millisecond.

The thermostat is placed at exactly 37* and the room is immaculate. Impersonal- except for a few added objects a human could never identify by sight alone. My face softens slightly as I glance to the left. My multileveled chess board where I put it last night after Kirk and I's daily match ... the one we couldn't finish because the captain was called to the bridge, I'm thwarting him as usual- but I do not stand.

One of the pieces has been moved, a silver bishop two paces to the left two in advance and a small glass pawn is missing.

I peel away the standard issue star-fleet duvet and stand, something cold slides down my spine like quicksilver and serpents coil inside my stomach, I turn eyes flashing wildly- there's nothing there.

This behaviour I deduce is highly illogical, my room, one of a high ranking officer is locked securely. Only I or one of higher rank would have the authority to enter which leaves me with only limited possible theories that would explain why pawn seven of my "white" yet clearly glass pieces had been moved without my knowledge.

ONE: I have not indulged in full sleep since three point four days ago; I have misinterpreted information due to an influx of emotion released due to fatigue thus affecting my eidetic memory.

55.5%

TWO: Kirk himself has entered my chambers unannounced, the missing pawn symbolises me and he wishes to engage in... Certain... activities, "take "me, if you will.

34.1%

THREE: there is an intruder in my quarters, one capable of hacking the main frame, only few would possess the skill and motive for such a thing, however we are now travelling thorough klingon space and a bold tactical move would be to incapacitate question and attempt to gain information about the federation and crew from a senior officer such as myself, if and when the intruder fails to gain answers- considering there is one and he/she is able to capture me without fault I could then be used as leverage for their escape. However that barely explains why security has not been alerted, this theory however is extremely unlikely

Only 9.4% probability

The remaining 1.8 can be discarded due to other less likely theorems and or possible gaps in my deduction.

It taxes me that such thought should be wasted on a simple conundrum however falour to analyse that witch we do not understand leads to carelessness which leads to weakness which leads to casualty and ultimately death. Charming.

I did not notice the piece had been moved however that still does not explain the missing pawn, it has been removed. Eerily there must them have been someone there to do so, I ready myself for the third possibility, any possible variation of it , the Kirk I know would never play with me in such a way, he would have simply wrapped his arms around me and startled me awake... Kirk, no one would dare to, as Kirk would say "prank" me. Apparently most of the ensigns and yeomen are "scared shitless" of me. The expression is amusing, the reasoning behind such illogical fear is even more so.

I am still wearing my meditation robe from lastnight, I reach into the cabinet beside me, and I crouch. The long midnight robes so eerily similar to the ones in my dream pooling around me like ink "hello, Kirk? A most unsettling occurrence has been discovered, the circumstances are strange but I assure you my logic is sound..." I can hear a strange crackling sound behind me, I can hear cursing in human dialect, kirks voice... a long dark shadow consuming me, "Jim!" I shout into the communicator as my arm is nearly wrenched from its socket phaser nowhere to be seen, communicator y falls to the ground momentum carrying it far out of sight as it skids underneath the bed, startled I trip over my own feet and fall backwards into an iron-like grip and something cold is pressed to my neck, but I take him by surprise jabbing him in the ribs with one sharp elbow, jims always joking that if anyone dared hug me they'd get a paper cut, his abstract logic amuses me-

I turn backing up into the cabinet, searching, begging for anything I can use to escape, nails cutting into the glass coating-a vice.

And there he is, eyes shining with mirth and amusement. One small jewel like on his outstretched palm, and spocks powerful Vulcan heart stutters "nice to see you-spock"

He grins, eyebrows arching and eyes glittering dangerously like black beads, as if the untold twisted joy he is experiencing cannot be contained,-posture relaxed, smiling seductively with a terrifying upwards twitch to his lips, something twists out of place inside me and in moments reverse captain Kirk with the dangerous eyes and even darker hair is sprawled in a bloody mess across the floor, jagged shards of crosshatched glass slicing icily into his flesh, I spare no time for inferior thoughts, ignoring how helpless he seems clutching at his head "COMMANDER!COMMANDER!THIS IS LUETENANT SPOCK! SANCTION: 32147.2 HAS BEEN BREACHED!, I REPEAT SANCTION 321_"

And spock, poor, ever logical spock folds in on himself, a powerful skull crushing blow sending him spinning on his apex, collapsing like a freshly made corpse . as he falls his head slams into the sharp corner of the cabinet and sticky green blood pours from the wound.

"NO!SPOCK!_SP_!" there is a crackle on the other end of spocks communicator, lying inches from his limp bloodied fingers, green liquid trickles from the corner of his dry rouge lips and one quivering hand reaches out to whipe it away but recoils quickly clutched to kirks chest as if a viper had bitten it. There he kneels falling to pieces just like spocks obliterated chess board, a lifeless Vulcan in his arms... where he belongs. Bloodied and bruised but right here, and he was never letting go,_NEVER_ he allows himself a moment of remorse- this was necessary, he can't help but doubt his stratagem as he gazes sadly Down on spocks pale face, head hanging backward to display soft white skin disappearing into his robe, lips parted, the only sign of life is the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest.

It's like a ton of bricks has fallen on him, and a simple mission to spite the lucky bastard of this happy universe, the one that could so _easily _have been him transforms into something more complex. Attentively he reaches his free hand once more towards spocks brow, and allows a small quickly sickening smile to split his face in half.

Feather soft Vulcan hair he is now permitted to touch, to _stroke, _a warm logical body to cuddle up to at night, he doesn't care what Spock thinks, he has worked too hard to withhold this small... this _small_ pleasure, and he will not allow such a rare creature to escape, his treasure, his prize.

His stroking becomes more rapid smile fixed in place, he feels giddy, more excited than he's been in a long time, yes, he would have his revenge, but that paled in comparison to the infinite possibilities his own brilliant mind had opened up for him,Spock,beautiful,efficient,trustworthy Spock , was his.

Not this strange creature stuck inside his skin, the one he has to watch each day, that knowing glint shining through his metallic mind as he calculates to the last millisecond just how much longer kirks eyes linger on spocks face than anyone else.

He hated the agony booth, the heart wrenching screams it tore from the sorry souls of the newbie's, watching their eyes, bright and new ,dull, and their voices sink into a dry robotic monotone. Over time their respect for him to be replaced by sorrow and hatred, and worse-fear.

This wasn't living, it was surviving, and Kirk wasn't sure there was anything left to live for anymore .His spock, he hated, but this spock, he was the real reason Kirk was so desperate for this part of the plan to exist. Spocks finger twitched and his sense of urgency returned tenfold, he hardly felt the sharp stab of glass, jagged shards lodged like venomous daggers in his thighs, eyes flashing with madness he punched the huge (Red obviously) button on his captains belt and waited, a small tinny voice trickled out of his communicator " _two minutes till transition_"

There was a rumble that could only be interpreted as footsteps and a deafening blast of liquidized acid blows a whole in Spock's cuarters,the raven haired beauty is stirring, spent muscles using up nonexistent energy to raise a pale arm to his temple, kirks gaze turns lustful and that ugly, violent instinct that has kept him alive thus far awakens,_dark smudges lie beneath his eyes ,porcelain face pallid and feverish, blurry eyes open,_ something clicks and Spock begins to struggle weakly in the intruders arms, each millimeter closer scorching his skin, Spock felt violated. helpless...he could feel the vile intent pulsing across their mental link, and a terror he had not thought possible had his body shaking like a leaf in the wind,

He cringes and turns his face away as harsh lips suck down -hard on his throat , a weak whimper escapes from his mouth but is quickly swallowed by kirk's unforgiving lips crushing against his own slack ones

struggling is futile, his jaw clamped in an iron grip and twisted upwards ,only to be released and replaced by cruel fingers twining in his hair and yanking so hard he felt his neck would surely break, the other arm crushes him to the intruders chest restricting his breathing, he can only lay there. Every fiber of his being _screaming_ as a cold serpentine tongue spears its way down his throat ,before long Spock begins to suffocate.

There is no respite from the long bruising kiss, and his body begins to convulse arms clamped to his sides and trapped inside the long heavy sleeves of his robe, what little air he can inhale is stolen away by reverse kirks probing tongue and greedy lips, Kirk sucks his tongue into the deep wet cavern but there's nothing he can do to prevent it, the ceiling begins to blur and everything is hotwettautfearcantbreathmustnocantmoveNO! there's a distinct hissing sound has the door to Spocks cuarters is vaporised and heavy boots scramble for extra friction, Spock is subdued once more. Body completely limp and reverse Kirk grins at his discomfort- slowly ,as to prolong his fear he trailes one sharp finger down Spocks face causing a sharp intake of breath where it passes over the spot on his left cheekbone where an ugly purple bruise is blooming, Reverse Kirk smirks with satisfaction when he flinches, head hanging back and hair tousled ,rubbing the feather soft strands between calloused fingers,

a single solitary tear threads its way down spocks cheek.

the footsteps halt four feet behind and a cold dagger-so personal presses itself to his throat spock does the only logical thing he can and allows his heaving body to melt into the man's hold...

there he floats in a semi conscious state the world spinning like an ancient human sailing ship caught in a storm, he tips. first one way, Then the other, and it is as if he's underwater .A heavy ,persistent weight, drawing on his limbs. and he's there under the Bergii tree again, water dripping into his eyes staining his robes with green, his arm is twisted at an unnatural angle above his head but it doesn't matter, he stood up to them, they're gone and "the jig" as his mother would say, is up, no more beatings, cruel taunts designed to cut, bruise and slice. But something's wrong, he can hear noises, shouting, heavy material,- but dry, a cold body pressed to his- crushing him...


End file.
